


Bonded

by kajukai (iruhe)



Series: Happily Ever Afterlife [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 16:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16601633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruhe/pseuds/kajukai
Summary: Hashirama and Madara meet again in the afterlife and make good on their promise to have a drink. This is the 'morning after'.Written for the HashiMada Bigbang 2018 on Tumblr. Prompt is 'Hair' & 'I am glad you're here with me; here at the end of all things'.





	Bonded

Waking up in Hashirama's arms was like waking up in the embrace of a tropical rainforest. The man smelled like the trees, like sandalwood, breathed like its humidity, and was just all round ... hot. Literally. More importantly however, Madara had no idea how they'd ended up entwined on the tatami floor of his little house atop the cliff.

Hashirama had behaved with the utmost propriety when they'd been drinking on his veranda, and when the man had seemed reluctant to go home for some reason, Madara had played the part of the gracious host, offering him a place to crash for the night. Purely out of courtesy ... and also because he had wanted Hashirama's company, just for a little while longer. But mainly out of courtesy.

Which led to his current predicament.

Madara's cheek was plastered against a solid bicep, offering him an up close and personal view of his friend-by-extremely-broad-definition. They'd lived their past life in a perpetual state of ambiguity, neither of them venturing forth with a name for this thing that had been between them, mostly in deference to circumstance, partly due to avoidance, a little because there was no need for it, and as time wore on, they'd simply settled into an unspoken understanding.

... And then there was the falling out, which had probably become common gossip in the shinobi world by now.

He tried to sit up, but his already narrow room for movement was further restricted when a strong arm around his middle drew him closer to the heart of the rumbling forest. Madara felt a languid smile against his temple, followed by the purring of a deep, sleepy "good morning" into his ear. It was more sensual than it needed to be.

Hashirama clearly wasn't fully cognisant yet; that mind of his was either lagging somewhere in a happier past or mistaking him for Mito, because there was no way the perfect gentleman from last night would've been this presumptuous otherwise. Madara tried again to put some space between them but succeeded only in pressing up against the length of his friend's body, which earned him a series of happy little noises he couldn't help but grudgingly smile at. He'd missed those.

"Mmm, you're wearing too much," Hashirama mumbled. A playful hand slid under his yukata and travelled lazily up his back, along the dip of his spine, smooth and bare but for one detail ... and there, he'd found it. The caresses on his back stopped abruptly when calloused fingertips brushed across the ridge of a scar, two inches long. It was the place where a sword had once plunged mercilessly through him, determined to defend Konoha at all costs, and it was something Madara remembered in his spirit, for it to subconsciously manifest in his soul.

He saw the exact moment realisation dawned on Hashirama. The man went stock still, startled; his eyes flew wide open (Madara had forgotten there were little flecks of gold in them when they caught the sunlight), and those parted lips he remembered so well gaped at him, at a loss for words.

So he had been mistaken for Mito after all, and he was going to assume she felt like a man because he most certainly did not possess soft curves. Alternatively, it could simply be because Hashirama was just. Incredibly. Dense. That ... was actually the most plausible explanation.

Madara attempted to rise again, but Hashirama was now like a petrified statue, and so they simply eyeballed each other in silence, Madara waiting for the man to let go and Hashirama waiting for ... what, he didn't know. Those deep, unfathomable brown eyes were staring unblinkingly at him, and Madara really wished he had one of the Yamanaka clan's mind reading jutsus in his repertoire right now so he could gain an insight into what was going on in his friend's stupid head.

He cocked an eyebrow and Hashirama ... actually, cautiously, relaxed.

Yes, good. This was how adults handled awkward situations. Remain calm. No need to panic or kick up a fuss.

"You can let go now," he tried for casual nonchalance.

"What?" Hashirama rasped, looking adorably confused.

"Your arm. So I can get up," Madara spelled it for the dimwit.

"Oh. Oh yes. My arm," Hashirama said blithely, in the tone he used whenever confronted with paperwork he fully intended to procrastinate on.

The appendage remained, an unyielding weight on him. Madara tried to be patient, but a good solid minute had passed by now with Hashirama displaying no inclination of moving whatsoever, and it was getting more than a little bit uncomfortable gazing into each other's eyes like that if they weren't going to be doing anything else.

Madara's raised eyebrow began to twitch.

"You're sleeping on it," Hashirama said after another sluggish silence.

"Your other arm!" Madara could have easily brushed it off himself; goodness knows why he didn't, just like he didn't know why it was so easy for Hashirama to bait him into their old familiar ways, when the memory of the last great war and everything that led up to it was still so fresh in his mind.

This intimacy was disorienting. It felt as though he'd been sent back in time, but it was also like the past had leapt into the present, rendering everything that had happened in-between into nothing more than mere echoes of the most horrifying nightmare. It was surreal. Unreal.

"Is there ... some place you need to be?" Hashirama's hesitant voice broke through his jumbled thoughts.

"... No," unless he counted these unchartered lands he was going to explore before Hashirama showed up and threw a spanner in his plans, "but I don't intend on lying about all day. Get up." Madara resisted the urge to kick his friend's shins. "You used to be an early riser." Unless they were fooling around. Which they weren't. And haven't for a long time. "What the hell happened?"

"I'm expired," Hashirama languished. "It's the ultimate retirement. There aren't any pesky matters that need attending to anymore."

Insufferable. Madara shot him an unimpressed look.

"All right, all right." Hashirama caved under the threat of an irate Sharingan glare and _finally_ found the energy to withdraw his limb. At a glacial speed. Madara wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed at the wandering hand under his gaping yukata now trying to play cartographer to the landscape of his back as it made its (very) slow retreat, but the loss of his friend's touch and warmth was something he forced himself not to focus on. It had been far too hot away, but now it seemed a little too cool and bereft of ... nevermind.

Madara pushed away from Hashirama as soon as he was free of the offending arm to sit up, but immediately learnt his ordeal was not over when he felt a lock of his hair snag painfully on something.

"What the--?!"

Dangerous red eyes levelled on the only sentient being in the room he could glower at -- a wincing Hashirama, who had been yanked up along with him, and was massaging his scalp pitifully. "That hurt!"

What was that?!

Madara scowled at ... what appeared to be hair that had tangled together. He examined the offending strands. No, it was too neat to be a random tangle. It was a deliberate knot, and besides, even if his own wild mane was prone to disobedience, Hashirama's was always perfectly behaved like a shampoo model's -- silky smooth, straight and slippery. He shot his friend a suspicious look.

"Ah!" Hashirama reached out to touch his handiwork, brushing against Madara's palm in the process, like the kiss of a butterfly's wings. He had the sneaking suspicion it was deliberate. "So it wasn't a dream."

Madara gave him a flat look. "Explain."

The man chuckled nervously. "Uh, see, I'd woken sometime in the night and ... you were there beside me! I thought it must've been another one of my dreams ..."

Hashirama dreamt of him? Good. He hoped they were nightmares.

"But you always disappear like ephemera, leaving without a word ..."

So ... they were nightmares?

"And ... well, it seemed like a good idea at the time, to knot our hair together." Hashirama rubbed the back of his neck. "That way you wouldn't be able to run off again ... without alerting me," he finished, smiling sheepishly. "It sort of worked?"

Madara discovered to his horror, that it was an endearing smile. And that this man still retained the power to veer his moods between two extremities in one split second. In other words, he was now more than a little touched by Hashirama's fumbling but sweet antics. Sweet, and incredibly stupid.

"You're an idiot."

"I know."

Madara fell into silence. Their tied locks of hair winked up at him, and a memory tickled like a feather at the back of Madara's mind. He'd seen something similar before, in the foreign lands that lay beyond the sea to the west, when he'd been on his travels after deserting Konoha.

It had been a wedding in a prosperous civilian village, so very different from the kind they had back in the Fire Country, full of colour and revelry, banquets, song and dance. Everyone was invited to celebrate, and Madara had learnt that it was a custom of theirs, for newly-wed couples to each cut off a small lock of their hair to tie together, as a symbol of being bound henceforth; a commitment to each other, to share their lives through weal and woe.

... Did Hashirama know of this?

He looked at the man smiling guilelessly at him.

Impossible.

Madara produced a kunai from under his pillow and sliced them free from the knot, which he curled in his fist. It was just loose hair, something dumb Hashirama thought to do with his addled brain and alcohol sloshing in him. He should get rid of it. Burn it to a crisp. He should--

"Madara."

He looked up to see Hashirama looming over him, all traces of good humour gone. When had he scooted this close and how did this man just slip under all his defences? Senju Hashirama was dangerous and he'd keep his distance if he knew what was good for him.

"I'm never abandoning you to the darkness or to solitude ever again," Hashirama declared out of the blue, solemnly placing one large palm over Madara's clenched fist, as though he were swearing an oath. "I meant to tell you this last night but never got the chance to. I never should have let go of you in the first place. Uzumaki Naruto taught me that. I'm sorry you never had someone like him -- I should've been that person for you. So much tragedy could've been prevented if I'd held on to you ..."

Madara stared wordlessly at the back of Hashirama's tanned hand on his, unsure of what to think or feel.

"So don't even think about going anywhere without me. I'll hunt you down, I swear it. And if -- I'm just saying if -- things ever came to a head again, we will either overcome it together, or perish." Hashirama spoke softly, but that was when he was deadly serious. Funnily enough, he'd used this exact same tone of voice the night he'd killed him. "... Madara, look at me, please. Let me make it up to you."

Huh, who knew. Hashirama had learnt something from his stint as Hokage after all. It was a good speech. Very diplomatic, but if you pared down the flowery language, it essentially said 'I'll be watching you closely from now on'.

"You don't have to keep tabs on me ..."

"That's not what I meant! I was trying to say I'll never leave you alone again, no matter what!"

Madara continued as though he hadn't heard him. "I won't be posing a threat to the world anymore, if that's what you're worried about. Our story is over--"

"--It is not!"

"The stage belongs to Uzumaki Naruto and Sasuke now--"

"-- _Our_ story is--"

"-- _And_ I don't need or want you to make up for anything. You did what you had to do. I would've been much more merciless had I been in your position. You don't owe me."

Hashirama sighed, giving Madara's hand a squeeze. "No, I should've chosen a different approach, and you're misunderstanding me. It's not just about making amends. It's about righting wrongs, but more importantly ... it's about happiness." A tentative but hopeful smile blossomed on the man's lips. "Yours and mine."

How did happiness factor into any of this -- oh, was he doing the guilt thing in a roundabout way now? Guilt alleviation equals happy Hashirama? Madara frowned, pulling away from his friend's grip. If it was going to be like this, he'd rather Hashirama acted covertly rather than declare his motives out loud.

"You don't believe me?" Hashirama sounded hurt.

No, he didn't, but oh god, the man was staring at him again, a masterpiece of gloom and heartbreak, that pair of soulful brown eyes tugging on Madara's heartstrings like a skilful puppeteer despite his own misgivings. This man was going to be the death of him -- no wait, he sort of already was.

"It doesn't matter if you don't believe me now. You'll see. I'll prove it to you," Hashirama said with a quiet conviction Madara didn't feel. "I'm not here to keep you under surveillance or just because of my regrets in life. I'm here because I care about you, because I miss my best friend, because we share a connection like no other ... because you're special to me."

There was a ripple within Madara the way a droplet of water disturbed the calm of a still lake.

"Our story is not over. It's starting a new chapter, a happier one. You're not getting rid of me, and I'm not letting you slip away again." Hashirama reclaimed Madara's fist, the one with their hair in it, and brought it to his lips. "I want you to keep this, as a token of my promise ... and as a reminder of our bond."

Their ... bond.

Did Hashirama know about its significance after all?

Damn the man. Truly. His friend was abysmal at keeping his promises, so what was this flutter in his chest when Hashirama uttered those words and looked at him as though he was the most important person in the universe? No wonder he had been able to command the hearts and loyalties of so many. People remembered the First Hokage for his battle prowess, but little did they know he had been equally charismatic a leader.

Hashirama's words were pretty, but the elephant in the room was the fact that he had an entire clan and family waiting for him just below the cliff who surely held greater collective sway over him than Madara himself. How exactly did his friend plan on making good the 'never abandoning you' and 'I'll hunt you down' bravado when he _did_ go on his travels?

Distance. He needed to keep his distance, or he could well and truly end up losing more than just his life and an eye to this man. Madara knew, intellectually, that this was a _very_ bad idea, that he was going to regret it again someday, and yet ... his heart couldn't help but want to believe Hashirama one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> I envision this to be set after one of my other afterlife fics, Reparations. Incidentally, Hashirama's birthday fic, if you've read it, is also in this 'canonverse'. ~~Some things, like the Indra and Ashura connection they obviously know about here (more like Hashirama knew about and relayed to Madara) wasn't mentioned in detail because it would've been covered during their drinking session the night before, which I sort of intend to write. Maybe.~~ **(UPDATE: IT IS DONE. I'm sorry if the continuity is jarring but this is what happens when you don't write stuff in chronological order. orz)**
> 
> The hair knotting is a real traditional Chinese wedding custom. I'm not sure if it's still done in China today, but I imagine it would've been in practice during the 'warring states' era HashiMada lived in.


End file.
